Authors: Adriana Arden
Alice watched as, with their strong thighs swelling with effort and their sweat-sheened pendant breasts swaying, they drew the plough blade through the soil. It was hot work but she did not feel sorry for them. Satisfying hard labour under the command of a firm but fair master or mistress, the company of their sister slaves, the raw excitement of uninhibited sex and the absence of those petty concerns and foolish aspirations that seemed to fill more and more of life back home, had a strange allure. Was that what had drawn them to Underland and the life of girling slaves? Was that why she was here? But where was her place in it all? In the service of the Red Queen? Thoughts of her masterful power made her feel weak at the knees.
Alice shook her head to clear her mind. All that must wait. She must concentrate on her mission.
As the plough girls passed on she considered the landscape before her. How best was she to traverse it to reach her goal?
If she tried to remain unseen all the time she was travelling her journey might take weeks. And if she were spotted despite her best efforts, such suspicious behaviour would be bound to attract attention. She could travel more quickly if she proceeded boldly in plain sight and made no attempt at concealment. Well, she certainly had nothing to hide, she thought with an inward giggle. Alice Brown – The Naked Spy! Hopefully she would simply be taken for a girling doing a chore for her mistress, which was more or less the truth.
The plough girls were evidence that girlings were used here as beasts of burden in a similar way to the rest of Underland. If she could pass herself off as one of them then nobody would take any notice of her. But if she was supposed to be doing a chore or running an errand, what was it? She didn’t want to keep having to explain herself to people. What she needed was a prop, something that would make her purpose self-explanatory.
Wary of the ploughing team, she began searching along the field edge, hoping for inspiration. After ten minutes all she found were a couple of discarded lengths of heavy string of the sort that might be used to tie straw into bales. At first she could think of no use for them, then inspiration struck.
Retreating into the cover of the trees she began breaking off lengths of some of the drier brushwood. By the time the ploughing team had passed by twice more, she had accumulated a pile of long slender sticks. These she made up into as neat a bundle as she could manage and secured it with one of the pieces of twine. The second length she tied to the ends of the bundle, leaving enough slack to slip it over her head and one shoulder so that the cord ran diagonally across her front between her breasts. It helped steady the bundle, but it was still awkward to carry. She pushed a thicker stick through the base of the bundle so its ends projected from each side. With the bundle on her back she could reach back and grasp the improvised handles, keeping it from slipping and spreading the load a little. She found she had to bend forward to keep her balance, which was useful as it gave her a reason to lower her head and avoid eye contact. The bundle was not comfortable to carry, but then it would be inappropriate if she looked as though she was enjoying herself.
Alice moved back through the bushes towards the field to check on the ploughing team. She wanted to be sure they were well out of the way while she made for the lane. She did not want anybody to see her emerge from the trees so close to the border in case they wondered where she had sprung from.
The team was just plodding into view. As they came level with her the boar ploughman called out: ‘Whoa … rest.’ The girlings immediately sank to their knees and straightened and wriggled their backs with sighs of relief.
Annoyed, Alice shrank down into the cover of a bush and held still. Why did they have to stop now with only a few furrows to go? She was anxious to get going.
The boar walked towards the bushes and Alice stifled a gasp of fear, thinking he had seen her. But his objective was a bush a few feet away. He pulled out a thick pizzle from the tangle of hair between his thighs and directed a stream of urine into the undergrowth. Alice grinned in relief. He was just answering a call of nature.
Shaking off the last drops and tucking his member away, the boar returned to his plough, uncorked a canteen of water that hung from its handles and had a drink. Then he made his way along the line of harnessed girlings, slipping their muzzles down to allow them to take a few swallows each. Alice saw the muzzles had a rubber bar across their insides, which would act like a bit when it was in place. No doubt it provided something for the girls to bite on as they strained at their task and also served to remind them of their place. As the boar went he patted their heads and murmured words of encouragement that were kindly enough but did not invite a reply. It was the way that one might address dumb animals.
‘Well drawn, soon be finished,’ he said. ‘Then it’s back to the barn for you and a good rub down …’
When he reached the last girling, a sturdy brunette with her hair tied back in a ponytail, a grin split the boar’s great snout. After he had watered her he replaced her muzzle, then lifted her to her feet by her collar. As he clasped and squeezed the girl’s heavy breasts in his large rough hands, he said, ‘Needed a few flicks to keep you going today, didn’t I, Brownie? But nothing you can’t take. I think you enjoy the odd tickle. Did I make that arse of yours red? Let’s have a look.’
He moved round behind the girl and bent her forward so he could inspect her bottom cheeks. He patted and
slapped
them with evident pleasure. Alice saw his pizzle was rising into something resembling a large red carrot. This he rubbed against the cleft of the girl’s buttocks a few times then said with a chuckle, ‘Open wide, Brownie.’
Alice found she was holding her breath, knowing what was to come. Memories of her time in Topper and Lepus’s training yard came back to her. She had watched girlings casually taken like this dozens of times with a mixture of fascination and apprehension, never sure if it would be her turn next. Her fingers slid between her thighs and found warm slick wetness bedewing her cleft. And when her turn had come she had responded with the same helpless arousal she was feeling now.
Obediently the plough girl spread her legs and pushed her rear out towards him, opening her buttocks and her red-slashed, thickly haired pubic pouch. He clasped her hips firmly and drove his pizzle between her cunt lips. The girl’s face screwed up as he entered her, grunted about her muzzle bit, then relaxed into a faraway expression as she resigned herself to the rough pleasure of his thrusts. The other plough girls looked round at her with mild interest and a couple sniggered behind their muzzles, but otherwise they appeared content to take the opportunity to rest a little longer from their labours.
Yes, she really was back in Underland, Alice thought as she crouched behind her bush and her fingers worked busily in her own cleft. Here it was the normal way of things for animals to use girlings for their pleasure. Evidently, however, she was less jaded than the plough girls. Had she always been potentially so easily turned on or did being back in Underland heighten her responses?
The brunette impaled on the boar’s pizzle was making little quavering noises now. The muscles in her thighs
stood
out as she braced herself against his thrusts, which sent shivers through her body and set her breasts jiggling. With a growling grunt the boar came, pumping his essence into the girl, who in turn thrust her hips desperately back onto him again and again, trying to bring herself off before he withdrew from her. Suddenly she squeaked in delight and shuddered, her eyes rolling and knees bowing weakly. She had made it.
Pulling his glistening rod from the clinging embrace of her cleft, the boar let the girl sink to the ground. Grasping her ponytail and pulling her lolling head backwards, he used a fistful of hair to wipe clean his pizzle. Releasing her to slump onto her face, the boar took another drink from his canteen, then picked up his whip.
The leather flicked across the teams’ shoulders and they scrambled to their feet with a clink of chains, even the still trembling and glassy-eyed brunette. ‘Last couple of furrows. Put your backs into it!’ their master commanded. Taking up the strain, the eight girlings, one with sperm beginning to trickle down the inside of her thighs, set the plough blade slicing through the earth once more.
Feeling frustrated, Alice removed sticky fingers from her cleft and watched the team move off to the left. It had been over too quickly for her to come and now there was no more time for self-indulgence.
Picking up her bundle she made her way along the belt of trees in the other direction until she reached the corner of the field. Here she found the lane was of well-compacted gravel but looked little used. Of course, there would no through traffic this close to the edge, Alice thought. The further she got along it before anybody saw her the better she would blend in. She set off.
Despite her load, Alice soon felt the calm of the perfect day overtake her. Along the hedgerows butterflies flitted between violets, foxgloves, startling red
poppies
and cow parsley that dotted the picturesquely lush verges. The sweet musk of blackberries filled her nostrils. She picked a handful of the rich dark fruits from a tangle of heavy canes that spilled onto the lane and gulped them down with delight. There was nothing like walking naked in the open, as she had discovered on her first trip to Underland, and feeling the warm air caressing her body. It was one of the bonuses of being a girling and made her feel vitally alive.
After half a mile Alice reached the outskirts of the village. She smiled when she saw that its name, displayed on a signpost, was ‘Uffish’. That was one of the nonsense words from the Looking Glass story, so it was not surprising to see it put to practical use. Soon she was walking down its twisting high street past a few small shops. A dozen or so inhabitants, both human and animal, were going about their business at a leisurely pace. Alice kept her eyes low, walked in the gutter and tried to look resigned and slightly bored. She sensed a few eyes on her swaying breasts and rolling buttocks, but otherwise she passed by unnoticed.
The locals were all oversized as she had come to expect, so that by comparison she was about the height of their children, a pair of whom she saw bowling a hoop along down a side road. All the animals she could see were of similar height or smaller than the boar ploughman. There was a familiar mix of species but fewer of what she thought of as the ‘cuddlier’ types, which was perhaps in keeping with the Looking Glass story’s slightly darker mood.
A crossroads marked the village centre, beside which was a pub – The Cross Bells. High up on its outside wall, supported by iron brackets, a heavy black wooden X-shaped cross leaned out over the pavement. Chained to it was a spreadeagled girling. Her mouth was closed by a broad strap gag held in place by narrower straps that ran under her chin and over her nose, joining to
cross
her head from front to back. Wide resigned eyes stared out from over the gag. She had long blonde hair platted into two braids. These had rings tied into their ends which had been hung over hooks screwed into the side of the upper arms of the cross, pulling her braids tautly up and out from her scalp. Perhaps this was to help keep her head up but it also made it impossible for her to hide her face, should she still harbour any lingering trace of shame about her circumstances.
To represent the rest of the pub name, three golden bells about the size of large pears hung from her body. Two were suspended from rings that pierced her nipples, the firm rotundity of her breasts lifting the bells outwards and allowing them to dangle freely. The third hung between the girls widespread thighs from a ring that pierced both her plump shaven outer sex lips. Alice wasn’t sure how heavy the bells were, but she could see the girl’s nipples were stretched into long points and her labia pulled down in a taut pout.
Knowing from personal experience how exposed and humiliating yet also desperately exciting it was to be a living sign, Alice felt a fresh stirring in her loins as she wondered what it would be like to swap places with the girl. But she had to keep going.
Not wishing to appear hesitant, Alice boldly took the road leading away from the cross that seemed to be heading in the right direction. After a few minutes the houses and gardens became sparser, merging into another belt of open fields. After a mile or so this cultivation gave way to more open ground with scattered dwellings interspersed by spinneys and clumps of thicker woodland. In the far distance beyond the largest wood, like some vast curtain falling from heaven, was the hazy wall of the edge barrier dividing Uffish’s square from the next.
Her back aching slightly under her load, Alice continued on along the road until it began to bear
steadily
to the left, looking as though it was going to run parallel to the barrier. It might change its way further on, of course, but how far that might be she had no idea.
Alice paused in the shelter of a tangled hedgerow, shrugged off her bundle and pulled out a few sticks to lighten it. While she considered which way to go she squatted down and peed, delighting in the freedom to perform the act in the open so naturally, then wiped herself off with a handful of soft lush grass.
The road was the easiest route but longer, while the straightest course over the common land might be slower going. If only she had a map to guide her. She began to realise how incredibly unprepared she was for her journey. For all her powers the Red Queen had given Alice nothing to help, even though it was in her best interests that she should succeed. Perhaps the Queen was too involved with the great game to wonder how a naked, ownerless girling was going to cross seven Boardland squares without money, food or detailed directions. Or perhaps, being royalty, such mundane considerations had simply not occurred to her. Alice had been too overawed by her mistress’s presence to wonder if she could be as impractical and single-minded as any other Underlander. Well, it was meant to be a mad place.